


Interlude

by spowell Count Dracula series (SPowell)



Series: Count Dracula [31]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, OOC, Orgy, Vampires, blood-sucking, dark!fic, evil!Merlin, implied light infantilism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/spowell%20Count%20Dracula%20series
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur awakens to experience memories of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> <3 Thanks for the lovely comments and the kudos that lets me know that you continue to read and enjoy.

When Arthur next became aware of his surroundings, he found himself sprawled on a velvet chaise lounge, still nude but unbound. Hands stroked his body—many hands, some female, some male, and arched into the caresses. He looked down at his throbbing cock—a thick, pink arrow pointing to a place somewhere above Arthur’s head. A gold ring encircled it at its base, preventing Arthur from coming. The gold D’s of his piercings twinkled in the light of the many candles in the room, and as he shifted, he realised that there was something snuggly plugged into his anus.

A lovely woman sat close beside Arthur’s head, the bodice of her gown open to reveal large breasts with small, erect nipples. Her long, reddish hair fell over shoulders the colour of cream, and her green eyes looked upon him with approval. She leisurely and sensuously scraped the fingernails of her right hand across Arthur’s bare chest, and the sensation sent chills dancing throughout his body. Noticing that Arthur’s eyes kept returning to her breasts, the woman shrugged off her blouse and lifted the pendulous mounds with her free hand to better display them. Leaning forward, she brushed one dark nipple against Arthur’s lips. He opened his mouth and sucked it in, prick pulsing in its binding. He reached up with one hand and stroked her other breast; it was incredibly soft beneath his fingers.

As an odd contentment washed over him, Arthur had the thought that this was perhaps what if felt like to nurse as a baby. If warm milk had poured into his questing mouth, it would have blissfully completed the scene for him. All the while, other hands continued to stroke his thighs, belly, calves, hips, and even feet. He jerked when he felt one of his big toes sucked into the wet heat of a mouth, a greedy tongue running around it. If Arthur didn’t instinctively detect the Count somewhere close by, he would have been afraid of either penetration or a bite; as it was, he was able to relax and enjoy the attention.

Arthur’s thumb ran over the inside of the woman’s breast as he continued to suckle, occasionally circling the nipple in his mouth with the tip of his tongue. The lady began to stroke Arthur’s hair in a soothing manner, and Arthur closed his eyes.

Arthur’s mother had been a cold woman, rarely showing affection to Arthur or to Arthur’s father, although he recalls frequently hearing them having relations in their room late at night when they thought Arthur was asleep in his bed. Indeed, as a teen, Arthur had learned about the mechanics of sex when he’d returned unexpectedly from an outing and inadvertently come upon his parents coupling in the parlour. Arthur’s mother hadn’t looked him in the eyes for weeks after, but his father merely told his son that perhaps now they could dispense with the instructional talk about sex. He had asked Arthur if he had any questions, and Arthur had been too embarrassed to voice any, although there were many.

A month later, on the sixteenth anniversary of Arthur’s, birth, Uther took his son to a house of ill repute and left him in a room with a prostitute. It had been humiliating. Unwilling to participate, but knowing his father would ask the woman if Arthur had had her, he allowed her to fondle him to erection and then he’d penetrated her, squeezing his eyes closed and concentrating on the feeling of being encompassed in moist heat until he came with a broken cry that made the prostitute giggle and ruffle his hair.

After, Arthur had waited in the hall until his father emerged from an adjoining room, buttoning his trousers.

“There are some things a man’s wife is not expected to do,” Uther had said before looking for the nod of the prostitute Arthur had been with and handing her a bundle of coins.

Arthur’s father was equally as cold as his mother-- but more devastating to a young Arthur was the frank disapproval that shown in Uther Pendragon’s eyes every time he looked at his son. Nothing Arthur could ever do removed that look, but to the day Uther died, Arthur never stopped trying.

Still, as Arthur sucked on the nipple in his mouth, a comforting female scent in his nostrils and soft flesh beneath his stroking fingers, Arthur thought that if he’d had a choice, he would have wished for his mother’s loving touch over his father’s approval.

Soon, the woman began to squirm restlessly, Taking Arthur’s hand from her left breast, she placed it beneath her skirts atop a soft thigh. Arthur obligingly found her wet centre and fingered the nub at the upper crease of her folds until she shuddered and cried out. He mourned the loss of her nipple between his lips as she moved away from him.

Looking through the empty space she’d left among the people that surrounded him, Arthur spotted the familiar raven locks of Morgana. She lay on one of the many fur rugs tossed about the room, her face buried between the thighs of a woman that Arthur felt sure had been the human centerpiece. The woman writhed at the administrations of Morgana’s tongue, which Arthur could see moving cleverly between pink folds that glistened with moisture, hands clutching at the rug and breasts heaving. Seconds into the woman’s orgasm, Morgana leaned to the side, fangs lowering, and bit into the tender flesh of the woman’s thigh, sucking greedily.

Arthur’s eyes left them and spotted Percy with his face buried between the globes of Gwaine’s arse; and then Cenred thrusting into Marcella where she sprawled over a nearby settee. The arousing scenes around him made Arthur’s prick sting with want of completion, and he squirmed on the chaise, the plug in his anus pressing into his prostate at every move.

The man who had been sucking Arthur’s toe shifted so that he could lick at the pre-cum dripping from Arthur’s prick. Seconds later, he was thrown aside and the Count bent over Arthur, blue eyes soft.

“Are you ready for bed, my Dove?” The endearment sent a blush of pleasure over Arthur’s body.

“Our bed?” Arthur asked, raising his arms to encircle Dracula’s neck.

“Our bed,” the Count agreed, and Arthur smiled.

 

 

 

 


End file.
